Hazardous Waist
by SMKLegacy
Summary: No, it's not misspelled. Response to the 5-2 Unbound Improv Challenge.


**Hazardous Waist**

TEASER: No, it's not misspelled. Response to the 5-2 Unbound Improv Challenge.

RATING: M for sexual content

SPOILERS: Assumes Season 5 through "Committed".

DISCLAIMERS: Ain't mine. Ain't never gonna be mine. Das' my story 'n I'ma stickin' to it.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Reviews appreciated, archived at my site, and are we really ready for an episode directed by Quentin Tarentino? First and last lines given, 1000 word limit for the story itself; according to MS Word 2003, I made it with 10 words to spare.

**CSI CSI CSI**

"_What is that supposed to be?" she asked with a grimace._ With one hand, Sara pointed at the unrecognizable mass of whatever it used to be on the ground at Grissom's feet and covered her mouth and nose with the other. "Biological, obviously."

"Did the smell give it away?" His own lips turned in a distasteful frown as he poked at the pile on the pavement about six feet from the dumpster behind the lab.

She groaned. "Yeah. This isn't one of your experiments in need of a biohazard bag, is it?"

He glared at her, which made such a comical site that she laughed. He shrugged and went back to his prodding of the lump.

"You going to stand there laughing at me or do you want to stay on the good side of your boss by asking me out?"

She felt her jaw drop and froze in place, wondering when Grissom would catch his . . . Freudian slip? . . . and what would happen when he did.

"What?" He looked up at her with his eyes wide open. "I'm waiting, Sara."

She swallowed and sucked in a breath. "So am I, Gris."

A smile etched itself onto his face a millimeter at a time. "Pick you up at six Saturday night?"

"Yeah. I'd like that."

"Good. Now, about that biohazard bag . . ."

**CSI CSI CSI**

Sara's doorbell rang at ten till six Saturday night, which sent her into a tizzy of activity as she tried to get to the door and put her sexy high heeled sandals on at the same time. She was breathing hard and could feel the flush on her face when she opened the door to reveal Grissom standing there holding a potted plant.

"Anxious to see me?" His blue eyes flashed with amusement as he looked her over. "I hope I'm not too early . . ."

"No, no, Gris, it's fine. Um, please, come in." She took the time to examine him, finding his tailored charcoal suit took twenty pounds off his frame.

"Where should I put this?" He held the plant up as he made his way toward her kitchen.

She laughed, remembering another plant that had persuaded her to stay in Vegas. "It depends. What does the card say?"

He swung around to her, making the ivy sway to some unheard rhythm. "Later. Okay?"

He sounded a little pathetic, but Sara could identify. She nodded and saw him relax. "So where are we going for dinner?"

"The Capital Grille. I know you still eat seafood. I hear their grilled salmon is to die for."

"And you get a steak." She smiled at him. He surprised her by looking away from her.

"I know you'd prefer me to have something else."

"Feed me chocolate for dessert and you can have anything you want for dinner."

He turned back to her with raw need thrumming in his eyes. "We aren't ready for what I really want for dinner, Sara."

She shivered at the wave of desire that washed over her as he devoured her with his eyes. He escorted her out, never touching her but standing as close as a sheet of paper.

All through their meal, that same longing simmered in every glance between them, though again, he never touched her. The intensity of his gaze brought every nerve to life within her. Her awareness of the silk of her dress along the curves of her body coupled with his steaming scrutiny made her squirm in her seat with arousal. By the time they finished the piece of chocolate espresso cake they shared, all she could think of was getting home so she could ravish every inch of his skin and feel his fine, strong hands caressing her body.

The first time Grissom touched her, he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close to his side as he walked her back to the truck. She couldn't miss the signs of his attraction to her: his heavy breathing, wandering fingers, possessive grip, and most of all the bulge in his pants that hadn't been there when he arrived at her house. His flawless seduction left her aching for his touch in the brief seconds between the time he handed her into the car and the moment he slid into the driver's seat and she could plant her hand on his thigh.

The silence on the ride back to her apartment crackled with sexual tension as she stroked his thigh and he played with her ear and hair.

When he opened her truck door, she tumbled into his arms and moved to kiss him, wanting to know how he would taste. He countered her move, diving for the pulse point on her neck as he backed them up the walk to her front door, gripping her to him with his hands around her waist.

Inside, he broke off his assault, earning a low moan from her even as he fumbled in his jacket pocket. He extracted a florist's envelope and handed it to her without a word, letting his smoldering eyes and the words on the card say his piece.

In the dim light cast by one table lamp, she squinted to read his cramped writing. _You have a hazardous waist, Sara. It's addictive and there is no cure. I know what to do about this. Gil._

She looked up at him. "You do?"

"Yes. First, I say that I love you." He smiled at her and pulled her close to him again, caressing her face with his eyes. "And then I do this."

He kissed her, deep and sweet and breathtaking as he walked them, more stumbling than not, toward her bedroom. They bumped the table where the single light sat, but neither noticed as the lamp teetered and tottered. He unzipped her dress as she slung his tie over his shoulder, _and then the lights went out._

**--FIN--**


End file.
